When Washington Was In Vogue

by Edward Christopher Williams

  “You don’t say so—that was aggravating. But I had the identical experience last Tuesday. You know I’ve been crazy for a four-poster, but I have never seen one which suited me, and last week at Henderson’s I ran across a perfect dream. It could not have pleased me better if it had been made to order for me. Henderson’s are selling out, you know, and it was marked down to $1,230. Why I did not take it on the spot, I cannot for the life of me determine, but you know how one dallies sometimes. Next day I hurried down to get it, and as soon as the man saw me he said, ‘Oh, Mrs. Manley, I am so sorry, but your bed is gone!”’

  Then there was a chorus of sympathetic exclamations from the listeners, one of whom proceeded, when she could be heard, to tell how her husband had a perfectly wonderful chance to buy a certain house on Sixteenth Street for only $24,000 cash. Whether he had bought the house, or not, I could not hear, for the orchestra started up a jazz piece, and drowned out the conversation.

  I need not say I was impressed—very much impressed. I had recognized none of these ladies as being anybody in particular, but the careless way in which they disposed of these trivial sums of money convinced me that prosperity in Washington was more general and widespread than I had thought. So I looked at Verney, and he met my eye with a smile.

  “Did you catch that?” he asked.

  “Yes, indeed,” I said. “Are we in a nest of bootleggers?” I asked laughingly.

  “No,” he said, leaning over to me, and speaking in a low tone so as not to be overheard. “The first speaker is the wife of a schoolteacher, the second is a schoolteacher herself, and the last is a schoolteacher and the wife of a government clerk.”

  I looked my astonishment.

  “That, my dear Carr, is what I call conversational spending. These women can keep that up all night and never turn a hair. You will notice, however, that their experiences did not cost them a single dime between them. It’s the cheapest form of amusement I know. All it requires is nerve and a little practice. The first time you essayed it you would feel self-conscious, but after a few minutes’ effort you would find yourself enjoying it. Someday, when you are particularly ‘broke,’ try it!” He laughed heartily, and I pondered over the artificiality of some phases of our modern life.

  We enjoyed the show, and I enjoyed Verney’s company, and when the lights went up for a moment we spied Dr. and Mrs. Morrow and Miss Barton in a box ahead of us. After a bit, two seats in the same box were vacated, and we went forward and took them. I talked to Miss Barton, and Verney to the Morrows, who invited us all to go home with them, which we did. Mrs. Morrow is a wonderful housekeeper, and she fixed us up one of the finest suppers I ever ate, and this, seasoned with such good company, made a perfect evening. I don’t recall whether I have ever told you about the Morrows’ house. It is very handsome, beautifully furnished on the older lines, and has every modern convenience. It is very satisfying indeed. Someday I hope I may be able to show it to you.

  I took Lillian Barton home, and though it was very late, she insisted on my coming in, so I sat for a while in front of the grate, and had a delightful chat. It was a most unholy hour when I left, but I did not mind having lost one or two hours of sleep, for the dopey feeling was all gone. When I crept upstairs the house was still as a tomb. I turned in quickly, and slept the sleep of the just.

  I shall try to get a picture of Tommie. I know whose line will help me. Three weeks from yesterday is Christmas, Bob, and I am certainly looking forward to seeing you then. If you should run into Dr. Corey up there, treat him nicely, won’t you? And don’t forget the Cole girls and Miss Chester. I must stop, so that I can mail this on my way out.

  Sincerely, etc.

  Davy

  SEVEN

  The color line in Afro-America. Crossing the line again.

  The claws of a lovely woman. Before the grate.

  A tropical beauty.

  Sunday, December 10

  It is a great pleasure indeed to know that you are getting on so well. You are one of those fortunate mortals who have all the gifts of the gods, and need only to put them to proper use to ensure yourself success in whatever you undertake. I see you, in my mind’s eye, making a deprecatory gesture, but what I have just said is nevertheless true. You have a sound body, a strong mind, and a nicely balanced temperament. These should be quite enough, goodness knows, but old Dame Nature in an overgenerous mood decided to add a pleasing exterior. That was the crowning touch. When she allotted you that dimple and that smile, she was giving you an unfair advantage over the rest of us.

  A boyish touch around chin and mouth and eyes is a thing few mortal women can withstand—witness the fascination of Rudolph Valentino! And sometimes I think even men are swayed by it. I often laugh to myself when I think of some of our war experiences. How the women, the old crones as well as the young lassies, used to fight for the privilege of waiting on you! It was nothing but that ineradicable boyishness in you, which will most likely accompany you to your grave. It’s a mercy you have a strong will with it all, otherwise you would have gone to the dogs long ago, I suspect.

  Apropos of one of my favorite subjects, the question of the existence of color lines within the race, I forgot to mention in my last letter a conversation I had with Tommie Dawson some days ago. As you may have gathered from remarks of mine, Tommie is as sweet a girl as I know, and I have never known one who seemed more sensible. She has no queer caprices and quirks in her disposition, and does not bawl one out for some little thing just because she happens to be in a bad humor. In other words, she is normal and natural, and you can count on her. I have heard it said so often, in New York and other places, that colored society here itself draws color lines—I mean among the women. I have studied the situation, without asking questions, but each time just when I thought I had hit upon something definite, some inconsistency or discrepancy would render the evidence useless. So one evening, being alone for a while with Tommie, I made so bold as to ask her.

  If there ever was a person who could test such a rule, or custom, it would be Tommie herself. She has health, beauty, brains, character, a fine disposition, and is pleasing in dress and deportment. Last of all, she comes of nice people, who have more than one generation of good breeding and well-ordered social and family life behind them. The only possible objection to her could be her color, and, while it would seem an utter absurdity to find such an objection among colored people, still, from things I have noted, no absurdity is too impossible to pass current somewhere or other.

  “Miss Dawson,” I asked, “is it a fact that certain groups of people here draw the color line? People away from here say so.”

  “Well, that’s a difficult question to answer, Mr. Carr.”

  “Difficult—why?”

  “The point is this: They do and they don’t. It would not be fair to give either a categorical yes or no as an answer to your question. But I shall be glad someday to point out some things which make outsiders think and say what they do. What happens here often gives an effect which is immediately referred back to a certain cause. I think people too often jump at conclusions, and unjustly attribute motives which frequently do not enter into the question at all.”

  I was about to ask her to elucidate the subject further when someone interrupted us, and we never got back to it. On Tuesday, however, Caroline entertained one of her card clubs, and some of the husbands of the members called for them after the games were over. It happened that two of the men are very good friends of Caroline, and she insisted on their coming out into the dining room and having refreshments. So they, their wives, and several other young women were collected around the table, talking and laughing while the men ate. I had been working in my room all evening, and Caroline called me down to have a bite after most of the company had gone. I recalled afterward what I had not noted at the moment, that every woman in the room happened to be distinctly fair, by which I mean white or nearly white, except Tommie Dawson, who is distinctly brown, and Caroline, who is somewhat less s
o. Someone started the ball rolling—I don’t recall just how—and one of the very fair women commenced telling about the shows at Poli’s Theater (one of the well-known legitimate theaters downtown). This was the cue for what followed.

  Every woman around the table—I know, for I checked them off on my fingers after they had gone—told experiences involving the large theaters downtown, the best restaurants, or one of the hotel grill rooms. They discussed the relative merits of the different places, and at least three turned to Caroline and Tommie, and asked them if they had ever been to so-and-so’s, though all of them knew that neither Tommie nor Caroline would be allowed, on account of their color, to enter any of these places. They even went so far as to use such phrases as “Oh, you really should go,” knowing all the time that it would be utterly impossible for them to go.

  It took me a few minutes to realize that, while perhaps the conversation was started without the slightest malicious intent, it was kept up to permit each one of the fair ones present to show how she could do these forbidden things, and to make the others feel that they were out of it. It is a form of boasting too often indulged in by fair-colored women, so I have since been told by others, and, as there are usually some persons present who could not indulge in such practices, the protraction of such a conversation must certainly be characterized as in execrably poor taste, to use no harsher word. In the particular case in point, both the husbands present were dark men. I somehow feel that in their place I should have resented the indelicacy of the ladies, but they did not seem to be the least troubled by it, as well as I could judge.

  When the company had gone, and only Genevieve, Caroline, and Tommie were left in the room, Tommie turned to me and said:

  “What you have just heard is a sample of the thing we were talking about the other day. You can hear such talk in more than one parlor in Washington. All it needs is for one woman to start it. No one of the others will let herself be outdone, so each must have her turn. Of course it’s a form of boasting, and as such might be deemed too trivial to notice. But, did you ever reflect that it’s just that sort of boasting that produces most of the feeling in cities like this between people of different colors? Take a girl like Helen Clay, who was compelled to listen to what we have just heard. You could not blame her for being a bit sore—indeed, the other women would be unhappy if they thought she did not feel sore—and she would give vent to her ill-feelings by saying nasty things about them and insinuating what she did not say. When a colored woman, or a group of colored women, are always boasting about going places where colored people are not allowed, places where their husbands or brothers cannot go, places where practically none of their friends can go, is it not quite in the natural order of things that evil-minded persons are going to suggest the possibility of their going to places they don’t talk about, and doing things they don’t tell about? I can think of two or three definite individuals who achieved scandalous reputations in this town because they spent all their spare time in white amusement resorts and white grill rooms where they would not, in the nature of things, expect to meet any of their friends. Personally, I do not believe the things that were insinuated about those women, because I know them, and yet I do not believe that even they can complain very justly about the slanderous things that were said, for they surely laid themselves open to such talk in a very special way. But I recur to my original statement, that not a little of the really vicious malignancy noticeable in the attacks on fair-colored women is attributable to such manifestations as you witnessed tonight.”

  That was the longest speech I ever heard Tommie make, and I shall leave it to you to say whether it was a good one or not. Personally, I should not have taken so much stock in her contention if I had not just had under my own eyes a striking example of the phenomenon she was citing, and had I not been myself so acutely aware of the irritation it caused. It is a valuable sidelight on a subject which interests me very much.

  Before Caroline’s ardent wooer, Dr. Corey, had been gone thirty-six hours, he had already managed to send her two reminders of his existence. The man is surely demented. But then, you know, these old fellows are hit hard when they are hit at all! After the company had gone, we tried to tease Caroline about him, but she is a cool one, and there is not much satisfaction in such a game. She did act a little puzzled though, as if the gentleman’s persistence had impressed her, and she did not quite know how to convince him that his suit was hopeless. When Genevieve had gone upstairs, and there was no one but the three of us in the dining room, she confessed her misgivings, and ended with these words, “I guess the only way to settle him will be to tell him I am in love with someone else.”

  Things do not happen singly in this world. No sooner are you made aware of something for the first time than all nature seems to be conspiring to make you repeat your experience several times within a short space. The incident I have just related concerning colored women crossing the line happened on Tuesday, and on the next evening, Wednesday, something else happened to deepen the impression already made upon my mind. One of the numerous women’s clubs had a regular meeting at Mary Hale’s on that night, and I had been asked to come at ten-thirty, as they were going to dance for an hour or so. As Verney was going, too, I called on him, and we spent an hour in his room before stepping over to Mrs. Hale’s.

  As I have been around quite a bit by now, I know most of the people at these smaller affairs. Caroline is a member of this particular club, and there were a number of invited guests, among whom were Lillian Barton and Mrs. Morrow. They were just getting ready to dance when Verney and I arrived, though several of the men had not yet put in an appearance. To give more space it was proposed to move the piano into the hallway. Three or four of us essayed this job and it was hot work, so we were invited by the hostess to repair to a little washroom off the hall to remove the marks of our labors. When I came out of this room, and was giving a touch to my tie, to be sure it had not gotten awry, Lillian Barton came up to me, and, with a laugh, stopped me and adjusted the tie herself, giving it a little pat in conclusion. To quote a certain famous line of Edgar Allan Poe, “Only this and nothing more!”

  Human society is a curious thing. There are few things in social life which have an absolute value, apart from their connections or associations, indeed, values seem to be assessed almost entirely because of these same relationships. Then, too, a thing has significance in one, or both, of two ways—as a fact, and as a sign. As a fact it may be of trifling importance, apparently, yet be tremendous as a sign. For example, an eye trouble, in itself slight, may point to a serious affection of the kidneys; the passing dizziness, which is not sufficient to check even momentarily the man of business in his rush for wealth, may suggest the high blood pressure which soon will incapacitate him completely. And so we might go on indefinitely. The thing which as a fact of this present hour is of the least importance may be an indicium of the supremest moment.

  In certain phases of life it is not the act, but the motive behind it which determines whether or not it is worthy of notice. The mere fact that her lover fails to pick up her glove may be of minimum importance to a young woman, for, after all, the omission is negligible, but if, for example, she realizes suddenly that this failure on his part is due to his growing lack of interest in her, and the consequent flagging of his hitherto eager attention to her minutest concerns, then this defection, apparently trifling, assumes a significance impossible to exaggerate.

  Now for a lady to stop for one second and, in friendly fashion, straighten a gentleman’s tie, seems to be a matter of the most trifling concern, but, as a matter of fact, the social significance of such an act may be tremendous. Who the lady is, and who the gentleman, makes a vast difference, it seems. At any rate, in this particular case I was made to realize that ladies who straighten gentlemen’s ties do so at their own peril. I caught several significant glances directed my way. One or two were expressive merely of amusement delicately tinged with malice, but two were distinctly disa
pproving, and I wonder if you can guess whence those two came. Well, one was from Mary Hale, and the other from Caroline Rhodes. Caroline’s face flushed visibly, and I was made acutely conscious of the merest shadow of a sneer trembling about the base of her very aristocratic little nose. A sneer is one method of expressing emotion which is never attractive, even in the prettiest woman. Did you ever think of that? Since I was not the offending party, but only the innocent “victim,” as I suppose the others would call it, I went on my way serenely. But Caroline was saucy all evening, and expended a good deal of sarcasm on me whenever we were near enough to exchange remarks. All of which I took with my usual good nature.

  But when the refreshments were served, another turn was given to the matter. We were pretty well bunched together in one corner, Don Verney, Caroline, Lillian Barton, Mrs. Morrow, and two or three others, and the talk was rather lively. After a few minutes it was apparent—and I have noticed similar phenomena more than once even in the case of the best-bred women—that Lillian Barton seemed to be monopolizing the spotlight, so to speak. She did not give anyone else a chance, and she overrode any venturesome person who tried to say anything. Did you ever see a good-looking woman do that?

  Well, it did not bother me a great deal, for I was busy eating, anyway, and most men don’t find it very hard at such times to let someone else do the talking. Mrs. Morrow tried to express herself about something, but Miss Barton eliminated her, and then Verney put in a word, but was quickly blanketed. Even uninterested as I was at the moment, I soon seemed to become aware that the lady had taken on that sort of bullying manner which society women know so well how to assume on occasion. I stole a furtive look at the others, wondering if it affected them as it did me. Mrs. Morrow looked irritated, Verney had that inscrutable smile he sometimes wears, though he was to all outward appearances interested only in the very satisfying things on his plate, but Caroline’s cheeks were flushed, and the defiant set of her mouth was easily to be noted. After a bit she took advantage of a very momentary break in the other lady’s remarks to disagree with something she said. The subject of the conversation I have forgotten. It does not matter, anyway. Miss Barton tried to smother Caroline as she had done the others, but it would not work, that little lady’s incisive voice would be heard, and, for all she seems the very embodiment of flighty frivolity, she has a good brain, knows how to use it, and knows how to express herself. All the members of the Rhodes family talk very well, and show the unmistakable marks of association with their cultivated father. This time my friend Miss Barton had caught a Tartar. She could not down Caroline, for Caroline refused to be downed. Then she tried a trick which shows how ruthless women—even nice women—can be under certain conditions.